The Ending Series: The Complete Series

by Lindsey Fairleigh

Harper and I reached Alice’s in less than a minute. The glass door was shattered, allowing us to slip into the shop easily.

  I climbed up into the window display, unnerved by the antique mannequins, whose eyes were too wide and animated and whose mouths were too small for their heads. With a scrunched face, I unzipped the jacket, hoping the sleeves would be long enough for me. Harper helped me maneuver the plastic person’s arms, jerking it toward me a few times, clearly entertained each time I recoiled. It was just…creepy.

  Finally, I freed the jacket and shrugged into it. The moment I zipped it up—the bottom snug around my waist and the stand-up collar closing around my neck—I sighed. It fit perfectly. Unzipping the pockets, I stuck my hands inside and posed. “How’s it look?”

  Harpers eyebrows waggled in playful interest, and he flashed me a killer smile. “Not too bad,” he said with a wink. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

  He was making his way for the door just as the rumble of an engine echoed down the street. We were hugging the shadows on the walls in milliseconds, my body tense and my heartbeat quickened.

  “Shit,” I hissed. Harper reached for my hand and pulled me closer to him.

  The engine noise grew louder until a military Jeep sped past and continued through downtown.

  “Damn, they’re in a hurry.” Harper whispered. “Let’s move before—”

  The sound of roaring engines grew louder, and another truck passed the antique store and stopped somewhere not too far down the street. Hearing the engines turn off and the doors creak open, I prayed the newcomers weren’t planning on hanging around. We shuffled closer to the door and watched five men unload their things and settle into a store a few buildings up from us on the same side of the road. Shit. They had duffel bags and thermoses of what I assumed was coffee, or possibly booze, to warm their insides and help alleviate their boredom. So…not just a quick stop then.

  With the soldiers out of sight, Harper and I hurried down the street to the gun exchange. Once inside, the four of us fell into a heated debate over whether we should stay and keep searching for helpful information or go back to camp.

  “What other options do we have? We need information…something, otherwise this trip was pointless,” I said anxiously. We’d come so far and now they were considering turning back. “There are only four of us. There’s gotta be a way we can get to the museum without being seen.”

  Sanchez and Harper considered it for a moment, and finally Sanchez nodded. “Fine, but we need to stay off the main road. We’ll go in from the back.”

  “There’s probably an alley,” Jake said, and he found my hand and led me to the back of the gun store. He unlocked the back door and slowly opened it. Loosening his grip on my fingers, he let go and leaned out for a better look. A moment later, he closed the door. “The back alley runs along all the buildings. If they stay inside, it’s doable.”

  Sanchez took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with,” she said bitterly.

  Within minutes, we were darting behind the buildings, crouching and ducking wherever we could. We were getting close. Just as Jake and I slipped behind an enormous delivery truck, a screen door flung open. It was the back door to a café—crates of coffee filters and paper cups were piled beside the dumpsters like they’d been unloaded but never delivered. Sanchez and Harper were up ahead, but Jake and I were stuck behind the truck, waiting for whoever had come out of the café to go back inside.

  “I thought we were giving her a few days to get the intel,” a man with a lisp said. Curious, I peeked through a slat in a stack of empty crates behind the truck just in time to see him unzipping his pants. I shrank back. The man—a soldier wearing green fatigues with a black armband wrapped around each sleeve at the biceps—had dark hair and a goatee. I could smell the tobacco smoke from his cigarette amidst the other rank smells of rotting food in the dumpsters.

  “I mean, I don’t get it,” he said. I could tell by his muddled words that he was holding the cigarette between his lips as he used his hands to pee…at least that’s what I assumed he was doing. “Just seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

  “Apparently she’s something special. He wants her back sooner,” another man called from inside.

  “She better be great in bed for all this trouble we’re going to. I thought he had a thing for the doctor, but I guess he can get away with more than one piece of ass.” The man cleared his throat. “Either way, I heard his newest flavor is a redhead.” He groaned. “I love redheads.”

  A redhead…that could be Dani! So, who’s the “he”? MG? The soldier’s second groan made me want to walk over and kick him repeatedly in the groin, especially when the men inside the café only laughed.

  “So, the raid’s moved up to tomorrow night?” After goatee zipped up his pants, I heard him take a deep drag on his cigarette and cough.

  “Roger that. We’ve got to get his toy home safe and sound, though. God, have you seen that bitch naked? I swear, I’ve never gotten a chub so fast.”

  “Hey, fuck-wad,” another man called. “Are you taking a piss or a dump? If you’re taking a shit at least shut the fucking door!”

  Goatee laughed. “Shut up, dickhead, I’m done. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

  Once the screen door slammed closed, I looked at Jake. The dread I felt was mirrored in his eyes. A raid? Assuming Dani was the “redhead,” I couldn’t help but think they were likely talking about us.

  “A raid? Tomorrow?” I mouthed.

  Jake shook his head, not wanting to think about an impending catastrophe while we were in the middle of another.

  Carefully, we continued on toward the museum. Once we were inside, luck seemed to throw us a much-needed bone—a regular post-apocalyptic miracle. The museum contained ample information about Peterson Air Force Base.

  We rummaged through the mini-exhibit and gathered a few maps of the base—they were vague and had obviously been created for tourists, but helpful nonetheless—a few history and general information books, and some black-and-white photos that had been taken on the base.

  After nearly an hour, we cautiously found our way back to the horses, hoping that the café outpost was the only one we needed to worry about. It was another hour before we made it back to camp, leaving us with only a few hours before dusk.

  Chris was the first person we saw as we rode up behind the barn. She’d apparently been waiting for us.

  “I was starting to worry,” she said, then let out a nervous laugh. “I never thought I’d be so happy to hear Sanchez’s voice in my head.” She surveyed our group, her eyes assessing, and I figured she was making sure we’d all made it back in one piece.

  Jake’s boots hit the ground with a dull thump, and he started unloading the duffel bags and backpacks of weapons, ammo, books, and maps. I dismounted and patted Wings on the neck, thanking her for being so steady and fast.

  “We saw soldiers…I’m assuming from the Colony. They had trucks and were wearing armbands, but these ones were black instead of yellow.” I frowned, feeling slightly ill as I recalled the perverted comments they’d been making. “We overheard them talking about a redhead…and, well, they mentioned a raid that’s supposed to happen tomorrow,” I told Chris while, around me, the others were unsaddling their horses. “We think the raid’s gonna be here.”

  “Great,” Chris breathed.

  “Seriously. We were talking on the way back and we think we should leave. We can’t take any chances. Especially with Sarah so—”

  “Carlos is gone,” she blurted.

  I froze, my mouth gaping open. “What?”

  “I’m sure he went after Jason.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered, resting my forehead against the side of the barn.

  Chris ignored my melodramatics. “So…Ky and Ben went after Carlos. Ky felt responsible, since Carlos must’ve ridden right past him.” Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, and she shook her head. “This is such a damn mess.”

 
; I could sense there was something else she needed to tell us.

  “What is it?” I groaned, straightening and dropping my hands to my sides. “What else happened?”

  “A woman showed up this afternoon. She’s not a Crazy, but something’s not right about her. Her mind is…off, somehow. Cooper heard her walking around in the forest and…” Chris shook her head again. “Anyway, she was unarmed, confused, and seemed like she hadn’t bathed or eaten anything in a while. Sarah and I got her cleaned up and fed her.”

  Sanchez took Wings’s reins from me, and Chris matched my stride as I headed for the campfire.

  “She seemed so lost and helpless,” Chris added.

  As we rounded the corner of the barn, I slammed into Jake’s stiff, motionless body. “Jesus, Jake…” I half expected him to turn around and reach out to steady me like he’d done so many times before, but he didn’t move. I righted myself and glared at him. He was completely unfazed that I’d just crashed into him. “Good thing I’m not as delicate as I used to be,” I muttered tartly, but he didn’t notice. Shock and horror—his shock and horror—trumped all preceding thought, and goose bumps prickled my arms.

  I shifted my eyes in the direction of his to find the woman Chris had mentioned—our uninvited guest. The duffel bag Jake had flung over his shoulder slid to the ground with a heavy thud.

  “Oh my God,” I rasped, and Jake said, “Becca?”

  3

  DANI

  MARCH 15, 1AE

  From the journal of Danielle O’Connor:

  Apparently I was attacked by a roving band of Crazies. That’s what MG says, anyway. There was a patrol of Colony soldiers nearby, and they stopped the Crazies from doing whatever their insane little minds desired. I don’t actually remember it, probably because I got knocked out and now have the mother of all headaches.

  Honestly, all I remember is stepping out of the tent for a minute in the middle of the night, then waking up in a hospital with absolutely no idea of how I got there. I guess the Crazies really did a number on my head. At least the Colony patrol was around. Lucky me…

  Yes, I know I should be grateful and super happy that I didn’t get maimed or killed by the Crazies, but this place is kind of weirding me out. It’s not the hospital that’s bothering me, exactly, but the fact that it has electricity, which I haven’t seen in months. I’ve decided I hate florescent lights.

  Mostly, I just want to get back to Zo’s camp. Jason and Zo and the others are probably freaking out, and I can’t even use my telepathy to let them know I’m okay. I mean, my Ability’s working, but it’s not strong enough to reach across the fifty or so miles separating us. FML.

  ~~~~~

  Thin paper crinkled beneath me as I shifted my butt on the padded exam table. I was sitting on the edge, my legs dangling over the foot of the table. It was my first official trip out of my itty-bitty hospital room since waking this morning, and MG had escorted me down a single flight of stairs and all the way to…an even smaller room. How lovely.

  At least I had a change of scenery. I’d exchanged a hospital bed, beeping monitors, and a cramped bathroom for an exam room containing only a padded table, a rolly stool, and a cabinet-counter-sink-desk fixture that looked to have been manufactured in the 1980s.

  I sighed heavily. “I still don’t really remember what happened,” I told the doctor, who was standing in front of me. She leaned close as she shined a small, painfully bright penlight into my eyes. She was middle-aged, her gray-streaked, black hair was cut in a tasteful bob that reached just past her chin, and her eyes were a deep, ocean blue. They hardened at my words. Well, excuse me.

  She clicked the light off, stuck it in the breast pocket of her lab coat, and shook her head, making her sleek hair sway. “You’ll have to ask your Domestication Officer. I’m not up to date on your background information.”

  “Doctor…”—I glanced at the front of her coat, double-checking the silver name badge pinned to her lapel—“Wesley, I’m not asking for special treatment or anything. I’m just…confused.” I took a deep breath, then shivered, thinking they had enough power to bump the thermostat up a few notches based on all the lights glowing throughout the building. “I mean, I was in the woods, and then I woke up in a hospital bed…I don’t remember getting attacked by Crazies…I don’t remember getting saved by the soldiers…I don’t remember coming here…I don’t remember anything. It’s strange.”

  The taupe walls of the cramped exam room seemed to be closing in on me, awakening a newfound claustrophobia. All the shiny instruments and disposable utensils on the counter took on a new, menacing purpose, and I shivered again. A thin, bleach-white cotton robe was the only thing covering my peek-a-boo hospital gown. It wasn’t doing much to stave off the chill.

  “You remember something from before you were—” Dr. Wesley snapped her mouth shut as she stepped over to the counter a few feet away from the foot of the exam table and flipped open a folder. “Hmmm…you’re not a…usually I only deal with…” She shook her head. “This is very unusual.” Her intense blue eyes studied my face, and the delicate lines spider webbing across her temples and around the corners of her mouth deepened.

  “Unusual” wasn’t quite the word I would’ve used, but her acknowledging the oddness of my lost hours made me feel a little vindicated. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I mean, is it normal for a concussion to lead to memory loss?” I asked the doctor. “All I remember is stepping out after…um…hanging out with my friends.” Blushing, I recalled the delicious sensations I’d experienced at Jason’s fingertips—and other parts—only a few minutes before getting knocked out. “I remember walking a little further into the woods, and then I woke up here. I don’t think I even have a…whatever-you-called-it officer.”

  “Domestication Officer,” Dr. Wesley said absentmindedly before shaking her head and whispering, “Gabriel. I should have known.” With renewed interest, she returned to the first medical chart in the folder and scanned it from top to bottom.

  Dangling over the edge of the exam table, my feet were cold despite the thick, white socks I was wearing. I rubbed them together idly and grumbled, “We never should’ve left Bodega Bay…should’ve just had ’em come to us.”

  As she read, the doctor transformed into a living ice sculpture, not moving, apparently not even breathing. Did she find something alarming in my charts?

  “What is it, Dr. Wesley?” My head was pounding. It felt like my skull was being used as an anvil by an angry blacksmith. Am I dying? Do I only have days to live? Only hours? This is so unfair!

  The doctor shook her head, and like she was shaking off sheets of ice with that simple gesture, the rest of her body regained movement. She set the folder on the counter. “I just thought something looked off, but I was wrong. It’s nothing. Tell me what you remember from before you woke up. Maybe I can help.”

  I didn’t bite, at least not at first. Instead, I eyed her warily, wondering what had caused her sudden change of heart; she’d been aloof and dismissive only moments before. Maybe it has something to do with MG—Gabriel?

  I shook my head, which only seemed to enthuse the miniature blacksmith pounding away inside my skull, then squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated. What was I thinking about? Oh yeah: what to tell the doc. Was it entirely wise to tell her, a stranger, about my friends…about our little camp? But, if I made nice with the doctor, befriended her, maybe she really would help me remember what happened. For some odd reason, I felt like I could tell her, like I could trust her—though my processing ability was slightly limited at the moment.

  I opened my eyes a little wider than usual and raised my eyebrows just a touch, hoping to look innocent and naïve. “We were traveling for a few months…from my hometown. We could’ve stayed there—probably should’ve—but hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

  Dr. Wesley nodded and brought the bright, evil penlight up to my eyes again. “Follow this light, but don’t move your head,” she directed.

/>   Sharp pain lanced the front of my skull as I tracked it from side to side. “Just so you know, it feels like you’re sticking knitting needles into my brain through my eyeballs,” I told her, gritting my teeth.

  “Mmm…I’m not surprised.”

  Then why are you doing it? I wanted to shout.

  “You have a pretty nasty concussion. You were struck here,” she said as she gently brushed her fingers over a tender spot behind my left ear. Finally, she returned the torturous light to her breast pocket.

  I was tempted to snag it and snap it in two.

  “Tell me more about your trip,” she prompted, dropping her latex gloves into the trash before opening one of the cabinet drawers. “You said you had companions who came with you from your hometown—what was it?”

  I blinked. “Oh, right, Bodega Bay…yeah, that’s where I’m from, sort of. But my friends, they’re mostly from an Army base in Washington, that’s where I was going to school…in Seattle, not the army base. Sorry, I feel like this isn’t coming out well. My brain feels all mushy.”

  With the distinctive ripping sound of Velcro, Dr. Wesley deftly opened a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around my upper arm. “It’s fine. Tell me about them, about your friends. Maybe it’ll help jog something.”

  “Well, they’re really tough, even Mr. G, who was one of my teachers back in high school. We found him in Bodega Bay. And then there’s Ky and Ben, they’re brothers, and Chris. She’s amazing…was an Army Ranger. We picked up Carlos from a bad group of people along the way…he’s just a kid, sort of. And then there’s Jason.” Pausing, I pictured my handsome, brave, sometimes tender, and always lethal Jason, and the corner of my mouth turned up. “He and Ky were Green Berets…in the Army, I mean. They can be a little intense sometimes, but you probably already know all about that.” After all, the Colony was a former military base.